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October 07, 2012

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Upon discovering that a beautiful young female in his circle of friends had reached his state's age of consent, local mangina and resident puss-footer Thraskod D. Flume failed to man up and hit that shit, already. Claiming that he had already become such good friends with her and her family that any attempts to initiate sexual contact with her would likely ruin a lot of things for a lot of people, Thraskod went completely belly-up, saying, “Well, there's always masturbation.”

His failure to express his feelings openly and to confess his desires notwithstanding, Mr. Flume continued to show veiled affection for the lass, attending her high-school sports matches and becoming excited when she would brush against him or sit with her leg toughing his. “I've heard it all, and I'll probably hear a bit more of it, but, yeah, I'm a little bitch for not asking her out on a date, for respecting her personal space, for not applying overt pressure, for looking longingly and lustily instead of trying to actually get in them jeans. It doesn't help that I'm twice her age, or that I suffer from a massive inferiority complex that has basically ruined my life, leading me to constantly doubt myself and to keep negative thoughts in my head-space.”

Projections show that even if Thraskod were to bag his prize, she would in all likelihood leave him soon thereafter for a star quarterback or for one of her professors at college, to which she has however not yet applied. “I'm used to this, OK?” whined the yellow-bellied sap-sucker. “I go somewhere, find the girl I think is hottest, and then I keep glancing at her until she starts looking back at me, at which point I do… nothing. This goes all the way back to when I was in single digits, a shy boy of eight or nine who asked a girl to come to his birthday party, and was denied. That kind of thing stays with a body, I guess. Good grief.”